


Sub Rosa

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: A fic in which Charles is a society girl, Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, M/M, What Girl Charles wants Girl Charles gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: She walks with the assuredness of a girl who has never known what the word no means, and Pierre gets the feeling she isn’t about to start now.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Sub Rosa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redpaint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/gifts), [singlemalter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/gifts).

> Well guys, what can I say other than I have FINALLY been suckered into writing Girl Charles. Thank you to two of the absolute most supportive friends I could ever have. You two are just the best.

Pierre recalls the words of an old school friend as he walks up to the grand glass front doors after having been let through the wrought iron carriage gates by a weary yet inattentive attendant, _this house has the most incredible parties on Fridays and when you go back you have to go. You won’t want to miss it._ He doesn’t know what he has walked into once the second attendant lets him inside, and he hears the sound of a pianist playing on the baby grand piano from in the middle of the grand sitting room accompanied by a multitude of voices in a few different languages. Eyes glance skyward for a moment, looking up at the intricate crown moulding and the chandelier that casts a soft amber glow about the room. _The rumor is that the house was once owned by Grace Kelly but no one really knows for sure. Now some family owns it._ His own family’s flat while quite spacious feels more like a home and far from being this palatial.

Whatever the story Pierre finds that he doesn’t care as he mixes in amongst the crowd, well dressed girls in their different dresses and boys in their crisp dress shirts. He surely doesn’t care once a glass of champagne finds its way into his hand via yet another attendant who quickly disappears. He mixes and mingles with the people gathered, seemingly reminded of his own mother’s decidedly more intimate get-togethers.

Yet somehow Pierre doesn’t notice the one girl staring at him from across the room, intently watching from the moment he walked in from her place by a large bookcase near the first steps of the grand stairs leading up to who knows where else, clad in black thigh highs and her black designer dress with gold embellishments on the shoulders and skirt. She is quite unlike anyone else present.

Somehow, his friend was right despite knowing Pierre was never the one for the party scene. Which is why at some point in the night he ends up finding himself on the veranda, looking past the street below to the calmly slow moving water beyond. He should be making his way out soon on account of the late hour and next day commitments but something tells him otherwise. _It’s not that late,_ his mind tells him. _Just stay. Just stay a little while longer._ Perhaps, Pierre is far too sensible for his own damn good. At least, his friends have told him as much in the past.

His mind takes note of footsteps that start off faint, becoming just that little bit louder as they grow closer. 

Slow and deliberate.

She walks with the assuredness of a girl who has never known what the word no means, and Pierre gets the feeling she isn’t about to start now.

“I’ve been watching you almost half the night,” She begins with her voice nearly a soft whisper not unlike the sound of the waves of the marina below them, standing close enough that their shoulders could brush. “And the thing is that I know everyone here.” Her eyes never leave him for even a second. 

“I was living abroad for a few years.” Definitely longer than a few years, enough that Pierre doesn’t have any real memories of Monaco beyond Sunday drives as a child with an endless blue sea for a view. Definitely longer than a few years, that Pierre spent his formative years away from here in places like London and Paris. His eyes, however, never leave the sight of the boats and yachts lightly pulling against their moorings.

“What’s your name?” Her tone is firm, matter of fact.

He finally finds himself moved to distraction, looking into eyes of green. “Pierre.”

“Well Pierre, my name is Charles. How about I make this worth your while?” 

Somehow, among the few hangers on left in the grand sitting room do not notice the two of them walking past and up the grand staircase with its intricately carved railing. 

They definitely do not notice when her fingers tangle in Pierre’s hair as they kiss on the landing and they definitely don’t notice Pierre’s arms around her waist, holding her to him like he could never will himself to let go.

§

Pierre is neither sure of the time nor the place he finds himself in when he wakes but one thing is definitely for sure, and that is the bedroom he finds himself in cannot possibly be his own. The clock on the wall reads 10:30 and judging from the fresh newness of the light filtering in from the curtained windows the time of day is barely midmorning, still fresh and new. 

The bedroom itself reminds him of the old world charm of some pre-revolutionary French chateau, the faintest of pink flowers and green set against white walls and the only sight missing from the otherwise idyllic setting is the wide expansive view of some palatial garden that can be seen from where one lays in bed. Pierre leans over to take his phone from its place on the night stand as he makes a mental note to profusely apologize for missing a small barrage of texts from his mother, _Good morning sweetheart my flight lands at 2 pm, I will be heading to the apartment afterwards and we should meet for dinner later,_ just as Charles appears from the en suite bathroom dressed in nothing but his long since abandoned and once crisp dress shirt with hair still slightly damp from a shower. She seems slightly different now having shed off her expensive dress and in an environment that is entirely her own. When he finds himself unable to look away as she walks towards him and finds her way back to bed, Charles smiles with a hint of a smirk like someone who is content with having gotten what they wanted. 

“Good morning.” She whispers against his lips before they kiss and once again, Pierre finds himself giving in.

**Author's Note:**

> Sub Rosa is a Latin phrase meaning under the rose, and in English was used to mean being sworn to secrecy or confidentiality as the rose is a symbol of secrecy and has been through ancient history. But also, it was a symbol of female centric power. Thus it is the title for this fic. As well, given that I was reading about Versailles while writing this fic, Girl Charles's bedroom is inspired by the bedroom of Marie Antoinette.


End file.
